


Touch of Grey

by Bliss_Smith



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Conversations, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-30 09:16:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15748728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bliss_Smith/pseuds/Bliss_Smith
Summary: Timeline is mostly flexible.  (My) Storyline drops this somewhere before the ambush at Lake Calenhad.One of those scenes I couldn't get out of my head, so I wrote it out. How I wish the 'what does being a Warden mean to you' conversation could have gone.





	Touch of Grey

“May we talk for a few moments?” 

 

Just the way Wynne asks tells her what she needs to know, that this isn’t going to be some casual conversation. She thinks about saying no but that’s not really a luxury she has anymore.  She at least needs to find out what Wynne wants to discuss. 

 

“Sure. What’s on your mind?” 

 

“I was wondering if I might ask about your being a Grey Warden. What being one means to you.” 

 

_It means Alistair_  is her immediate thought. She bites down on that, knowing there surely is a better way to phrase it. A way to explain that he is the only thing that gives being a Warden any meaning at all.  _Not what I’m sure you think it should_  is her second thought, which is certainly no better. 

 

She thinks about it, thinks hard. All that comes to mind is the first time she woke up to Alistair having a Warden's special nightmare. It was the third night they’d slept together, the first one after a long, ragged day, when the physical separation left them both feeling a little lost. She had waked up to find him curled in a ball, sobbing quietly and trembling like he was naked in the snow. She covered his body as well as she could with her own, crooning softly to bring him back from whatever heartache was being mixed with darkspawn taint. When he snapped awake and found her holding him, he cried harder, the aftermath of the dream hanging in the tent like a bad cloud. 

 

“Your silence tells me what I want to know, I think.” Wynne’s voice is the same as always, but Mistral can’t pretend she doesn’t hear a thread of disappointment, too. “Maybe I should start with how you became a Grey Warden?” 

 

“At knife point, pretty much. Over the dying body of my father. Duncan said he would help get my mother, Sugar, and me out of the castle if I would join.” She’s surprised there isn’t more venom in the words. That’s the first time she’s been able to say that to another person. “My father agreed. Told me that’s what he wanted me to do. I loved him more than anyone, ever, and he was sliced open and dying in front of me. My options were to disappoint him and stay there to die with him or to join so Duncan would help me get out alive.” 

 

She falls quiet, watching small birds fly near the stream they’re camped by. She thinks she’ll wait for Wynne to speak, but there’s more she needs to get out, it seems. “Turns out Duncan came to Highever specifically to recruit me. When we first met, he asked so casually, like it wasn’t the reason he was there in the first place. When I said I had no interest, my father backed me right up, as dismissive of the idea as I. Duncan said he wouldn’t press the issue. And he didn’t, until my father was bleeding out between us and he found a bit more leverage to use on us.” 

 

She looks at Wynne, not sure what to expect. The most she can hope for is a touch of understanding. When she sees her holding a bottle of wine toward her, she cracks a smile, surprised at the conspiratorial look on Wynne's face. She takes the bottle and raises it in toast before taking a long pull and handing it back. She goes back to watching the water, waiting for whatever Wynne has to say. 

 

“Well. That certainly explains a thing or two.” 

 

Mistral snorts at the understatement as well as the dry humor in Wynne’s voice. “Thought it might.” 

 

“Yet here you still are.” 

 

She takes the offered bottle again, drinking slowly while she finds some good words. Might as well be honest, but that doesn’t mean she needs to just blurt like she does. “Here I am. Sometimes I try pretending the only reason I am is Alistair, but he’s not. I was raised to keep my word, even if it was given at knife-point, and I was kept in the dark about all I was agreeing to. But you can bet if it wasn’t for him, I’d be a lot crankier about it.”  

 

“You two seem to be getting very close.”  

 

More of that wry understatement, and Mistral laughs. “I can’t tell – are you trying to be polite or sarcastic?” 

 

“Always polite, dear.” 

 

“You don’t have to be with me.” 

 

“I know. But it becomes a habit, one that’s better to have than not.” 

 

She thinks about chasing that rabbit, but she doesn’t really want to know. She just doesn’t know if she ready to talk about her and Alistair, not with someone who seems so disapproving of them. 

 

“Does it help to know every objection you might bring up is probably one he and I have already discussed?” 

 

It’s Wynne’s turn to look surprised, and Mistral can’t keep a small smile off her face. “Everything is stacked against us. Our age and the problems and differences in our lives are bad enough, but then there’s...” she trails off and flaps her hand in the air. “All this. The weight of the world is literally on our shoulders and we’re so clueless. It’s like putting toddlers in charge of an armory. It would be hilarious if it wasn’t so fucking terrifying.” 

 

She stops, trying to think of something to say, like she’s standing in court, having to bargain for their lives. Which, isn’t that what it feels like some days? 

 

“We make each other better. In every sense of that. We make each other better people, better versions of ourselves, and we heal each other, as much as the wounds can be healed at all.” She stops once more and takes a deep breath, knowing she’s said all she can. “Go on and speak your piece. Just know it’s not going to be some grand revelation.” 

 

“I can't decide if your determination is admirable or frightening.” 

 

“Me neither. I never know if I should pat myself on the back or kneecap myself to make me stop.” 

 

“I knew Duncan. Not well, but enough.”   

 

Wynne’s voice is low, unsure about bringing it up. Mistral is far too curious why she is. “Enough for?” 

 

“Enough to know he wouldn’t have conscripted you like that without good reason. I think he saw something in you that told him it had to be you. And I think he was right.” 

 

She doesn’t want to hear that. It’s bad enough hearing it from herself, but at least that she can dismiss as ego. To have someone who isn’t enamored of her back it up is more than she can handle right now. She doesn’t try to stop the tears, knowing these days that’s as futile as wishing things could be different. 

 

“I told him, our first night together, they’re going to write books about us, history books and fairy tales. I know that’s true as well as I know I’ll love him until the end of my days. I just wish I had a clue how the tales will end. That my determination and his faith will be enough to get us both through to the end of the books.” 

 

She wipes her eyes and holds out her hand for the bottle, one more drink to wash down the tears. When she tries to hand it back, Wynne smiles and shakes her head as she stands. 

 

“Your father would be very proud of you, Mistral.” 

 

“Maker’s breath, stop stabbing me, Wynne.” 

 

“You know what they say, the healer’s hands are always the bloodiest. You’ll be all right. Just drink that wine and enjoy the sunset. I’ll send your young man along to help heal it.” 


End file.
